


To the Wild

by kattastic99



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, This is all really self indulgent and pointless woops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-20
Updated: 2017-06-20
Packaged: 2018-11-16 09:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11250609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattastic99/pseuds/kattastic99
Summary: This fic is a short little thing detailing the daily life of a fan character mentioned in the latest entry of The Monster's Darling, for anybody who was curious.





	To the Wild

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [put on your brake lights (you're in the city of wonder)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11114709) by [GalaxyGhosty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyGhosty/pseuds/GalaxyGhosty). 



> Shoutout to galaxyghosty, the author of The Monster's Darling and the person I shamelessly stole the habit of using song titles as story titles cause holy fuck this makes things so much easier. Anyways, Inverse is a fan oc and he's garbage

The funny thing about monsters is that most of them are born human. The sad thing about monsters is that they never wanted to be monsters, they never woke up one day and decided to become a monster. They simply kept getting hurt, over and over, and instead of growing thicker skin they grew scales and horns and claws and tails in their soul, and they ripped apart the world that made them what they are.

 

The scariest thing about monsters is just how human they are. 

 

Inverse woke up as he often did, with a heaving inward breath born of fear, paranoia, and most importantly the fact that he sleeps so deep that his diaphragm tends to want to stretch when he wakes up. 

 

Satin sheets and egyptian cotton blankets were bundled up in tired arms and carried down the stairs of a very expensive house to be deposited with little care into a high end washing machine. Another week of body oils and unmentionable fluids had to be washed out, and Inverse refused to hire a maid or other cleaning worker. He didn’t trust them in his house. Not due to any class or race based reasoning, no, Inverse simply believed that everybody was hard wired to be cruel. That all humanity was, at its core, violent and destructive, and were a disease that the earth would one day cast off. He only brought people into his home he was going to have sex with and kick out, or people he planned on murdering. Sometimes those two categories overlapped, but not often. 

 

As his bedding tumbled about in the washing machine, Inverse plodded into the kitchen and started up the coffee machine. As he filled the carafe, he thought about the day ahead of him; unless Dark called him in on short notice for an emergency of some kind, or just because, he didn’t have any work today. He scratched his back, poured the water into the back of the machine, and put the carafe back. After forgetting which cupboard had the filters in it and searching through eight of them, he found the damned things and placed a fresh filter in. Inverse put them back in a different cupboard, forgetting already where he found them because organization is stupid, and trudged tiredly into the living room. 

 

“Huh.”

 

Sitting on his coffee table, plain as day, was a fairly substantial collection of jewelry, all of it clearly incredibly valuable, and all of them coated in thick splotches of dried blood. He didn’t remember doing this. Normally that wouldn’t rule the possibility out, but Inverse always cleaned the valuables he intended to keep and he left the valuables he didn’t want on their respective corpses. It wasn’t like he wanted for money. There wasn’t exactly a lot of possible sources for the mysterious pile of blood jewels, pretty much the only person who could have been responsible was Cry. Nobody else had the resources to break into his house, nor any reason to. Especially not to just leave mysterious gifts.

 

The relationship Inverse had with Cry was. Less than traditional. Fuckbuddies implied they were friends, which they were not. Inverse wouldn’t piss on Cry if he was on fire, but sex was fun and Cry liked calling him up or just showing up out of nowhere to have sex. Inverse couldn’t predict when Cry would show up and whenever he did, Inverse knew that Cry had an extremely large number of cronies around, leaving him with few options. Inverse could call Dark, but then Cry would vanish long before Dark got there. He could attack Cry, and get taken out the second he lunged by sniper fire. Or he could just drag Cry into a hotel and fuck his stupid fucking face. 

 

Inverse didn’t want to deal with this pile of jewelry, though. First of all, he had no idea where it came from so he had no idea how important any of these pieces might be, or how much heat was on any of these things. Second of all, none of them were pretty enough, they were all ugly and Inverse wouldn’t be caught dead wearing any of these, which was another piece of evidence pointing to Cry being the source of these. Anybody else would just grab a bunch of random pieces, which would mean, statistically, at least one of them would be to Inverse’s style. The fact that there were dozens and every single one was awful pointed to this being intentionally useless. 

 

The coffee machine beeped, and Inverse sighed heavily before trudging back to his kitchen. He poured a cup of coffee, poured a bunch of sugar and creamer into it until it was almost half coffee and half other shit. When he was done stirring it, he sat it down on the table and went back to his bedroom to get his phone. As he walked back to the kitchen, he checked his texts and his email, both almost completely empty because he had no real social life to speak of. Inverse sat down at the kitchen table, grabbed his coffee cup, and dialed one of the handful of contacts on his phone.

 

It rang, then rang again, and on the fourth ring the person on the other side picked up. “Who the fuck is this?” they said, and Inverse took a sip of his coffee.

 

“Patch me in to your boss,” Inverse said without answering the question.

 

“And why the fuck should I?” the voice replied.

 

Inverse took another intentionally obnoxious slurp of his coffee. “Do you want Cry to find out you turned away his booty call?”

 

There was a pause, and a click, and then the crackly, static filled voice of a certain rampaging douche canoe with a flair for pointless melodrama answered the call.

 

“Did you like my present?” that condescending, pompous voice asked, with that smug sort of tone that just made you want to hit something in the face. 

 

“I’m gonna dump them in a bucket of bleach for a few hours then bury them all in the back yard.” Inverse said. He took another sip of his coffee. “They look like shit. Just like you!” he said with a cheery tone. 

 

Cry just chuckled through his stupid, pointless voice distorter that served no purpose other than to add a sense of mystery because he was a childish dickhole. “How rude of you! You should be more respectful, you know.”

 

Inverse slurped very loudly from his coffee, barely actually drinking any. “Alright. With all due respect, you look like fucking shit. I mean, I’m assuming, since you wear that pointless mask with your pointless voice distorter. From what little of your face I’ve seen when you unhook the mouth piece so I can fuck you in your face until you sound like you swallowed a bag of gravel, you’re probably not THAT bad looking. I’m sure your mother loved you at one point.”

 

There was a hiss of silence, and then; “Really? You’re calling me ugly when you’re wearing polka dot boxers?”

 

Inverse blinked, and then looked down at his crotch, confirming that he was in fact wearing his polka dot boxers. He looked around himself, and noticed the window of his kitchen was facing him at an angle that allowed one to see him fairly easily assuming they were, say, in one of the buildings that made up the skyline, had a powerful enough scope, and knew exactly where he lived. All of which Inverse knew for a fact Cry was capable of. 

 

So he flipped his window off. 

 

There was another crackle of Cry’s voice distorter activating, followed by “Rude.” Then the phone hung up, and Inverse continued drinking his coffee. Just another morning.


End file.
